


The Long Road Home

by silvercolour



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Happens during MAG160, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, aka they’re alive and together, canon-typical comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:06:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26196100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvercolour/pseuds/silvercolour
Summary: Martin was just going outside for a walk, and then the world ended. Now he has to find his way home, to Jon, before it’s too late.//Martin’s pov of the events of MAG160
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 10
Kudos: 71
Collections: Silver’s h/c fills





	The Long Road Home

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the tma h/c week, day 7: “panic attack”. All fills for this week will be posted to my tumblr (@silver-colour) as well as here on Ao3, to the collection this fic is also a part of!
> 
> I just want to say a H U G E thank you to everyone who has been reading, leaving kudos, and writing comments, sometimes on multiple of these fics (yes I see you, and ilu guys!)
> 
> OKAY SO hurt/comfort week is complete, but! If you have any prompts you’d like to see me fill, shoot a comment my way! I’ve caught the h/c bug and I’d like to write more^^
> 
> NOTE for this fic: any dialogue you recognize is not mine, but quoted or paraphrased from MAG160, during which episode this story takes place.

“ _Obviously_ I’m going to tell you if I see any good _cows_ ,” Martin said, already turning around to grab his coat. The days had been getting much colder and windier since their arrival in Scotland. If they were going to stay here all winter one or both of them might have to travel to a larger town to get some winter gear.

As he pulled on his boots Martin started making a mental list of things they might need: coats and hats, definitely, and possibly sturdier shoes as well. Strangely enough the cabin had a large collection of gloves, in which they should be able to find some to last them the winter. What they really needed was food, some stuff they could stockpile.

As Martin locked the door behind him he had to suppress a shudder. He had gotten rather good at stockpiling food with long shelf life since the Hive attacked him. And gods, didn’t that feel like ages ago now? The memories were still enough to wake him at night, sometimes, both in London and here. Whenever he woke from worm-infested dreams, he had to check the cupboards, and the fridge, and see if there was enough food there to last them a long time.

It’s a compulsion he hasn’t been able to rid himself of, even if it wasn’t the worst thing to be compulsive about. As Jon had put it once, after finding Martin in the kitchen at impossibly-early-AM: “it can’t hurt to be prepared, right?”

So Martin had been bringing extra groceries every time he went down to the village. A few cans of food here, some dried pasta or bottled water there. Their stores were doing alright, but if they wanted to be comfortable for the winter, instead of just surviving, he’d have to look into getting some nicer things as well. Perhaps some extra fruit preserves, and dried meat?

Still compiling lists and thinking about recipes (more tea, definitely more tea, and should he already be preparing for Christmas? What if they got snowed in? They should check the shed out back, make sure there was enough firewood as well), Martin emerged from the stretch of forest behind the cabin. 

Looking up the hill he could see the clouds tumbling and chasing each other across the sky in the same wind that grabbed at his coat. Definitely getting colder– soon it wouldn’t even be decent hiking weather without wearing a scarf and hat. The path uphill meandered and circled, sometimes branching off to go downhill and up the next one. Martin was halfway up the path, about to take the corner that would bring him back in view of their safehouse, when he felt the winds pick up, ike someone flipped a switch.

For a moment Martin had to lean his entire weight against the sudden gale of wind, then it lapsed as abruptly as it started, leaving Martin to tumble over his feet around the corner. He hit the ground hard, cushioning his fall with his arms, tearing his coat in the progress. He blinked, dazed for a moment, resting his head on his arms for a breath before getting up.

Had it been only a moment? A creeping, sneaking fear whispered the question in his mind. Hasn’t it been much longer? Aren’t you lost out here, aren’t you hurt, and abandoned, and _alone?_

The light had changed in the short(had it been short?) time he’d closed his eyes– still enough to see, but it looked more like twilight now than mid-day. He’d have to go home right away, Jon must be worried by now. Fighting the pain in his arms as well as the creeping _fear_ , Martin struggled upright, attempting to wipe the mud of his knees, his coat, and blinked.

He looked around at where the safehouse should have been visible. Instead there was… everything– nothing– certainly not what had been there when he left. The path down the hill was a mess of spirals, and confusing roads crossing, linking up and breaking off. The forest at the foot of the hill seemed to loom, even though Martin stood higher than the forest. It appeared to reach for him, for the surrounding land, as though it wanted to reclaim it all, and keep it forever in it’s choking, wooded embrace.

And then there was the sky. Though the wild winds were still there, now pulling in many different, unpredictable directions, the sky had lost all clouds. Its colour was one no sky should ever, could ever be. That of bruises both old and new, and in it was– God. That was no moon or sun. That looked entirely too much like– like an eye.

_You’re alone, now, Martin, and so very, very lost. Who will find you now, Martin Blackwood, out here where no one knows you, where none remember you–_

He shook his head, attempting to get rid of the whispers, the all too familiar thoughts burrowing into their old places again. He didn’t have time for this, he had to get back to Jon. 

Could this be caused by a ritual? The rituals weren’t supposed to work at all, Jon had said. He’d said it would never work to only bring a part of the Whole That Is Fear into this world. Yet this looked an awful lot like someone had succeeded. Whatever this mess was, he had to get back.

Surveying the crooked path Martin dimly wondered _whose_ ritual this was supposed to be. Were those spirals moving? He’d never find his way back across those. He stared straight downhill, at the impossibly looming forest, to where he knew the cabin should be– to where Jon was.

Dead ahead and downhill then? The way would be rocky, and dangerously slippery, and the going very slow. But it _was_ more likely to keep him going in the right direction. Martin dreaded losing sight of the forest, and the-place-where-the-safehouse-was. Somehow it felt like he’d never see it again, if he followed the spinning, twisted path back around the corner.

Path decided, Martin straightened his back, pushed down the thoughts spiralling in his head ( _you’ll never make it Martin, what will Jon think when he finds you’ve abandoned him? Perhaps he’ll be glad–_ ) and started the climb down.

Climbing was hard, much harder than it had looked from the path, rocks loosening up when he tried to steady himself, edges scratching at his palms, and his knees, slowing him down even as they tried to _throw_ him down.

Every step felt unprepared, rushed and unsafe, yet took forever. When Martin crossed a new path, this one twisting in a gravity-defying way, he slumped down for a moment to catch his breath. Looking down he still had so very far to go– looking down the impossible path it tempted him again, to _just take the road, it’s a little longer, sure, but won’t it be easier, and faster in the end_?

It was unnerving, how accurately it knew his thoughts, what way best to tempt him into what would certainly be an endless maze. It sounded so much better. Which was why he couldn’t trust it, could not take that path.

Further down, ever further down he climbed, for what could be hours, and felt like days. Martin lost all sense of time, but surely, _surely_ the hill hadn’t been this high this morning? Or even when he stood up there on the path, and made the decision to climb down?

A rock shifted under his feet, then a second one slipped loose in his hand and he was falling, plunging down, far too fast–

When he opened his eyes he found himself staring up at the wrong-sky above, one of the eyes (hadn’t there been only one before?) staring straight down at him. With consciousness pain flooded through him, telling him he was bruised and battered all over. More than that he could _feel_ himself being watched, being Seen, and coldly judged, and left alone to suffer his pain.

And really, truly, wasn’t this what Loneliness was? Worse than inside the Lonely, where he felt nothing _but_ loneliness, here he was: Seen, Known, lying on the ground at what might as well be the end of everything; to be out here without _anything,_ no one to help him, no one to save him, all alone–

Martin curled up on his side, bruised limbs protesting loudly at his every movement. He might as well be in the Lonely again; the result was the same, and the pain would be less.

A cold washed over him, a feeling of distance, from himself, from the Eyes and the spiralling paths, from the pain in his limbs and the despair in his heart. The Lonely had never quite let him go, and was coming back for him now, to suffocate him in nothingness; to bring him back to that place where he didn’t have to care that no one would miss him. After all, it was his own choice this time. Better to be Alone, than the stay, and see the aftershocks of the death of the world he once knew. His only regret was–

Jon.

Jon was still out there. What was Martin doing, what was he _thinking_? Jon was still waiting for him, he had to be– perhaps he was even looking for Martin right now. He had to get back to Jon. Jon might know (might Know) what to do, how to fix this– this thing that was no longer their world.

Under even louder protest Martin unfurled his limbs and slowly, very slowly stood back up. He was at the bottom of the hill; he’d made it down! Not the way he’d wanted to, but certainly faster than his descent thus far had been. His jeans were torn in several places, and his coat would certainly not help him in the winter– would there still be a winter? Martin could feel that cold creeping back at the thought, and willed himself to start moving.

He could worry about wintery weather when it arrived. There were bigger problems for now.

Here at the bottom of the hill the forest seemed even more ominous than it had before, malevolent roots seemed to reach for him, whip-like branches twisting in his direction, and despite the fact that the larger-than-life trees obstructed any view of the sky he felt Watched. Perhaps the Eyes wouldn’t be stopped by something as simple as wood and leaves. Or perhaps there was something in the forest watching him.

Martin quickened his pace. Despite his aching legs, and complaining back and bruised _everything_ , he had to get through this. He _had_ to reach Jon. So despite the oppressive fear that hung like webs between the trees, the need to make himself small, and the feeling of _have-to-hide_ , he squared his shoulders and walked on.

The forest watched his every move, his every step, but now that he didn’t need to climb a rocky slope Martin could pay attention to the path. He avoided several gnarled roots that attempted to trip him, and never strayed from the road. This path, at least, had not been affected by the spirals on the hill. Somehow, Martin got the feeling that the forest would not have let that happen.

After a meaninglessly long amount of time, Martin emerged from the tangled forest. Up ahead, at the normal distance from the forest where it had stood before, was their safehouse. It looked the same, untainted and unmoved by the changed world around it. Which might have been worrying, if Martin had stopped to think about it.

He did not. Martin broke into a sprint the moment he saw the cabin, running for the door, and– it was locked.

Of _course_ it was locked, he’d locked the door himself. Fumbling the key into the lock, he whispered a thanks to whatever gods might still be listening that he hadn’t lost it along the way. The door opened with a now-familiar creak, and Martin made himself lock it again behind him before going any further.

Jon was unconscious, lying on the kitchen floor, the new statements scattered around the table and floor.

“Jon? Jon wake up, please, Jon, wake _up_ !” Martin was frantic, and Jon was _not moving_ at all, so he slapped him.

A dazed blink: “Uh– Wh– Martin?” Another blink, as Jon began to look less dazed. “Wha– Oh god. What– What happened?”

Martin could have cried, from fear, from the release, for the fact that _Jon was alive,_ and Martin wasn’t alone.

“I- I don’t know; everything– It’s all gone wrong!”

“Help me up,” Jon made to move, and Martin helped him up, supporting them both against the edge of the kitchen table. Then Jon tried to move for the door.

“No– don’t, don’t go outside. It’s– It’s real bad, Jon” Martin breathed. But Jon seemed determined to see, to Know what happened. He limped over to the window instead.

“Oh god.”

“I- I don’t know if it’s just here, or–,“ Martin started, to explain, or to stop Jon from looking outside, to distract him and divert his attention back to Martin.

“No. No, it’s everywhere. They’re all here now,” Jon’s voice was shaking, yet he spoke with a certainty of Knowing that unsettled Martin. “I can feel all of it.”

“Jon. Jon, I’m scared,” in another time, another place, Martin might have felt ashamed to admit it. Here and now, the words barely seemed enough to convey what he felt.

“The whole world is afraid, Martin. Because of me,” he choked out a laugh, and that laugh hurts Martin more than anything Jon just said. “And The Watcher drinks it all in.” He laughed more fully, yet the edges of it were ragged and sharp.

“John?” Martin’s voice was barely more than a whisper.

“Look at the sky, Martin. It’s looking back,” Jon laughed, deranged, distant, and this needs to stop, _now_.

Martin might not be able to fix their situation, (a situation Jon caused, he said?) but he could at least try and stop Jon. Because the way he’s laughing? It sounded like Jon might as well be crying. Martin shuffled over to the window and dragged the curtain closed.

He _knows_ the sky is looking, and he understands a little bit better why the sky might be looking at _them_. He was out there, just now. Before. However long ago. It felt like he’d been gone for days at times. If he was, then Jon must have been unconscious for all that time. Or perhaps Martin just got the time he spent Out There wrong.

But he came back, they're together and that’s more important than anything else. He folded Jon in his arms in a bearhug and just held him. Jon’s laughter slowly turned into sobbing, as whatever he Saw, as the Knowledge of what he has done washes over him.

Jon clung to Martin like a lifeline through the sobs that racked him. They stand like that for a long, long time, before Jon stopped shaking. He never let go of Martin.

“Come on, Jon. I’ll make us some tea.”

A snort, something that might still be either laugh or sob escaped Jon. “What’s the use of tea, Martin? What is the point of anything, now? We cannot sit here and pretend everything is normal!”

“Of course not, Jon!” Martin said, perhaps more exasperated than he really felt. Mostly what he felt was fear. “But that doesn’t mean it isn’t still nice to have something warm to hold.”

Hidden in Martin’s arms Jon whispered something that sounded suspiciously like “I’m already holding something warm.”A small smile found its way onto Martin’s face.

“Let me find some tea, and we’ll move to the couch. Then we’ll figure out what to do next alright?”

Jon nodded against his chest. “One step at a time, and the first step is tea.”

“The first step is tea,” Martin agreed.

**Author's Note:**

> [DAY 1](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26067358) jonmartin Shaky hands/Holding hands  
> [DAY 2](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26099584) the Admiral improves Jon’s bad day  
> [DAY 3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26127337) Hiking, jon has an accident, and Strong!Martin  
> [DAY 4](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26142172/chapters/63601369) Vampire!Jon, touch-starved, hugs (chapter 1 of 2)  
> [DAY 5](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26164330) Martin has nightmares, but Jon is there with hugs  
> [DAY 6](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26179093) Jonmartin, fluffy marriage proposal
> 
> Please leave a comment and let me know what you think- I love hearing from you guys!


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